


so fresh!

by jisquish



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Inspired by 365 Fresh (Music Video), M/M, Minor Character Death, Polyamory, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, also its not totally gna follow the mv plot dont worry dkfjdkjf, binnie is hui chan is edawn and jisung is hyuna :D, its graphic - ish?? idk just be careful okee ilu, this has been sitting in my drafts for a month take it u hoes, whats better than this .... guys being dudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 11:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16491668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jisquish/pseuds/jisquish
Summary: Changbin's always in the wrong place at the wrong time, Chan thinks that maybe the universe doesn't want him to die, and Jisung just wanted to go to college.(365 fresh au)





	so fresh!

**Author's Note:**

> all trigger warnings the same for the 365 fresh MV - violence, murder, attempted sexual assault, suicidal stuff so Proceed Carefully yeehaw. this is not beta-read. enjoy!!

Changbin skidded to a halt two inches away from slamming his face into the stone wall, bracing his hands against it for support and then borderline flinging himself in the other direction down the alley. His feet pounded the concrete with such effort he could feel the sting all the way to his knees, heart racing as he ran and mentally cursed his own stupidity.

He should have known. He should have _known_ not to get involved with Lee’s clan, he shouldn’t have ever taken a deal like that he knew he couldn’t repay. But he didn’t, and then he did, and now they had found him.

It felt like he was inhaling gravel, each breath sharp and painful. He was far from unathletic, but he wasn’t used to pushing this hard this fast, and he could feel himself slowing. But if he could just get a little farther--take a few more turns--maybe, just maybe, he could lose them.

He turned a corner and almost tripped over his own feet in an effort to stop moving forward. Twenty feet down the alley was a group of at least five broadly-built men, approaching him with clear purpose.

He whirled around, fully prepared to sprint in the same direction he had just come from only to wheel once again to a halt when he was met with a very similar sight.

So this was it. He was trapped.

All he could do was hope they didn’t intend to kill him, at least not today.

“Seo,” called one of them, one he recognized--one of the Lee cousins, a man named Jinsoo. “You have our money.”

“Well,” Changbin said, mouth working quicker than his brain, “the funny thing is that I really _don’t_ anymore--”

He was interrupted by a solid punch to the jaw, stumbling backwards into the waiting arms of another thug. He spat the blood out of his mouth, shaking his head like a wet dog as his slightly unfocused eyes found Jinsoo standing in front of him. He caught a glimpse of the heavy rings on the man's hand and suppressed a groan.

“You gonna kill me?” he mumbled through already-swelling lips.

“Depends how well you take it,” the other replied, lifting his fist again.

Changbin shut his eyes.

 

A very violent fifteen minutes later, Changbin pushed himself up to his hands and knees with a groan, lifting one hand to wipe at the bloody gash on his cheek and slightly amazed at the fact that he was still alive. They’d taken his wallet (joke’s on them, there was nothing in it of value besides his ID) and car keys and jacket, and Jinsoo had hissed in his ear to _“never set foot on our territory again”_ before slamming him against the brick wall, but he wasn’t dead.

At the moment, that was all he could ask.

However, he didn’t have any money or a car, and he needed to get out of town approximately yesterday. Which called for some slightly more innovative tactics than he’d usually stoop to.

He was in what some would have called the party district, and he knew of one of the nearby clubs fairly well. (More importantly, he knew a service entrance that was never watched, which was especially necessary at the moment seeing as he didn’t have his ID with him and looked more than a little suspicious.)

So he made the three-block walk, nursing his wounds with muttered curses and hisses and trying not to look too insane to the passers-by. He glanced furtively in both directions before entering through a side door, taking a moment to breathe before sneaking into the open bar area and scanning the room for anything (anyone) that could be an option.

His gaze came to rest on a pair of keys lying on the bar counter, a few more inches than was really safe from their owner, a young woman chatting with her friend.

Changbin forced a smarmy grin as he approached. Some things were just too easy.

He whistled to himself as he strode through the parking garage some minutes later, trying to squash down the guilt swirling in his chest that stemmed from the stolen car keys he was currently dangling from his fingers. He was no stranger to stealing, obviously, but he wasn’t the biggest fan of it. Still, necessity called, and he clicked the unlock button as he glanced around the lot, trying to figure out which car they went to.

When he saw a generic white sports car’s lights turn on with the click, he sighed with relief, glancing around furtively before opening the door, dropping into the driver’s seat, and peeling out out of the parking garage.

Out. He had to get out. At the very least out of town, and it might even be best to get out of the country.

He took a left, making a mental note  to get the plates changed. For now, his only plan was to get out of Seoul--maybe go southeast, spend some time on the beach. He had some money saved up in a bank account only he knew about, enough to last him at least eight or nine months, and he could get a job. He’d done it before.

That was what was running through his mind when he almost ran the kid over.

 

-

 

“Jisung?”

The seventeen year old stuck his head around the corner, still clutching the broom and dustpan in one hand. “Yeah?”

His boss, the owner of the barbershop and a graying Chinese man named Zhang tossed him a keyring, which Jisung caught fumblingly. “You good to lock up after your last customer?” the older man asked, slinging his coat over his shoulder. “I’ve got to pick up my daughter.”

“Sure,” Jisung responded enthusiastically, right before remembering _who_ his last customer was and cringing slightly. But it was too late to take it back, and besides, Zhang wasn’t the type of boss you could easily refuse, so he plastered his smile back on just in time for the older man to turn around and send him an all-business grin.

“Good lad,” he said gruffly, and then the door slammed behind him and he was gone.

Jisung clasped his hands in front of him and leaned against the wall, exhaling a long, shuddery breath. Because tonight Yongguk had an appointment. And Jisung was not keen to be alone with him.

It would be fine, he reminded himself with a stern shake of the head. He could take care of himself. He spent the next thirty minutes trying to keep his mind off things, praying for a walk-in appointment to properly distract him, but no one showed up, and Jisung was left nervously cleaning things that didn’t need to be cleaned as he waiting for the doorchime to ring.

Yongguk always booked his appointments late at night because he worked late, and when 9:30 came he showed up right on time as always. Jisung gritted his teeth and plastered a smile over his face, wiping his hands nervously on his apron as the businessman smiled at him. His lips were always a little too full, his grin always a little too wide. He was like a putty man, skin frighteningly smooth for someone who was almost 40, broad shoulders always pressing against whatever tailored suit he was wearing.

“Jisung-ah!” he said brightly, settling himself down in the chair, which protested with a squeak. (Jisung privately agreed with it.) “How’ve you been? How’s school?”

He always asked that. Jisung draped the smock around his shoulders, accidentally catching his eye in the mirror and looking away quickly. “It’s good, Yongguk-ssi,” he replied nonchalantly. “Same as usual?” he asked, trying to keep his voice stable.

“Just a shave this time,” the older man replied cheerfully. Glancing around, he added, “Where’s the old man gone?”

“Just me tonight,” Jisung said tightly, getting out the brush and shaving cream and trying not to slice his shaking hand open on the razor blade. “He had an errand to run.”

“Oh… what a shame.”

Jisung didn’t say anything, just tipped the chair back and avoided eye contact. Yongguk had always creeped him out, since he first started coming to the little barbershop on the corner Jisung had been working at for almost a year now. Since his third visit, the businessman had always only requested Jisung to do his grooming sessions, and some of the jokes he made and the glances he threw the highschooler’s way felt a level of predatory that kept Jisung dreading his frequent appointments. He’d tried to bring it up to Zhang, but his boss would hear none of it, insisting that Yongguk was ‘good business’  and that Jisung was always perfectly safe. (“It’s not,” he’d said with a _harrumph_ ing attitude _,_ “like you’re a 17 year old girl, of course.” _But I’m a 17 year old boy,_ Jisung had thought helplessly, _and he’s a 39 year old man._ But nothing ever came of the complaint.)

All business, Jisung dipped the brush into the shaving cream and gently painted it along Yongguk’s jawline, his motions circular and expert-like. He noticed with a thud in his stomach as he did so that there was barely even any stubble growing since his last appointment, which seemed all too recent anyway. Jisung pressed his lips together tightly.

“How’s other things?” Yongguk asked casually, and Jisung flinched as the brush moved along with Yongguk’s jaw as he spoke. “Friends? Girlfriend?” He winked. “Boyfriend?”

Jisung swallowed dryly. “No, Yongguk-ssi--”

“Ah, call me hyung,” the older man protested, and Jisung was barely able to keep the horror out of his gaze because this man was _not_ his hyung.

He bit his lip, hard. “Hyung. Um, no, just focusing on schoolwork… University stuff,” he said vaguely.

“Mm. That’s good,” Yongguk said distractedly. “Very good.”

They fell into a tense silence--or at least, it was tense for Jisung, who kept glancing over at the door as if expecting Zhang to suddenly burst through and declare that he would finish Yongguk’s appointment himself, or that at least _someone_ would come, but of course the night outside remained dark and silent.

Jisung finished the last swirl of shaving cream and moved around Yongguk’s prone figure to the counter to pick up the razor blade, and as he reached to pick it up, he felt the unmistakably chilling sensation of a hand grazing his upper thigh.

He froze, head racing and heart pounding, hoping it was an accident, just a brush as the older man tried to reposition himself or something, but the hand lingered and the moment Jisung got over his shock enough to regain mobility he jolted forward, pulling away from his touch.

Still facing away from him and the razor blade clutched in a shaky fist, Jisung opened his mouth but had no idea what to say. Eventually the only thing that fell out was “... Yongguk-ssi?” in a desperate plea for everything to please, _please,_ be a big misunderstanding.

“Yes, Jisung-ah?” When he turned around, nothing seemed to have changed. Yongguk was looking at him with rounded eyes, face still covered in shaving cream, for god’s sake. He knew he could do nothing.

“N-nothing.” Nervously, he approached the businessman’s head again, razor blade clenched tightly in his fist as he shaved down Yongguk’s jaw with surgical precision. And nothing happened. When he’d removed the last of the shaving cream, he breathed a shaky sigh of relief, unclipping the older man’s heavy smock and carrying both it and the razor to the sink to rinse them before he calculated Yongguk’s bill.

When he reached the sink, he draped the smock over the edge, then froze as his stomach lurched for an unidentifiable reason. Skin crawling, he slowly turned around only to jump back, bumping uncomfortably against the sink as he found Yongguk standing very close to him.

“Let’s get past this, shall we,” the older man said, the picture of comfortable as he leaned against the wall, caging Jisung in with his large frame.

“P-past what?” Jisung stammered, very aware of the sharp blade he was still holding, hidden behind the metal frame of the sink.

“Don’t _tease_ ,” Yongguk said, tone suddenly sharp and features contorted and it felt like all Jisung’s internal organs had been struck by lightning as he shoved himself past the older man and whirled around, holding the razor blade with two hands pointed at him.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, chest rising and falling with every beat of his racing heart. “Don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t, d-don’t,” he stammered, protests and terror falling from his lips like a broken record. He didn’t know if he’d ever been this scared before. Even when he got mugged when he was 14, it didn’t feel like this, like his eyes were about to fall out of his skull or that his blood was going to burn its way past his skin like acid.

“Oh, don’t act like you haven’t been _asking_ for it,” Yongguk hissed, every single one of his features contorted in what Jisung could only describe as mania and fuck, no one else was _here,_ it was nighttime and no one was here and the shop was technically _closed_ by now and _fuck--_

Suddenly, Yongguk lunged forward, and wrapped both his hands around Jisung’s wrists, squeezing until Jisung yelped with pain and dropped the razorblade. Yongguk kicked it away without a second thought, too practiced in this, too ready, and Jisung wanted to vomit with the idea that _he was not the first_.

“A little fight is cute,” the older man hissed, dragging Jisung closer to him so that he could smell his breath, “but don’t push it.”

Jisung had been dropping all his weight to struggle against the older man’s vice grip, so Yongguk was throwing his weight behind him, and in a desperate last-ditch attempt, Jisung shoved as suddenly and as forcefully forward as he could, watching as the older man’s eyes widened and he tipped backwards, arms windmilling as he let go of Jisung in his shock.

Jisung jumped backward, fully prepared to run the moment he got free, but he froze as something happened he had not anticipated. Yongguk fell backwards--straight towards the marble countertop, and his skull hit the edge with a crack that brought bile to Jisung’s mouth.

The older man’s eyes shut with the impact and he crumpled limply to the floor. For a short, beautiful moment, Jisung thought he was only knocked out--that he would be able to call the cops and get _far away_ \--but then the blood started to pool underneath his body.

For several seconds, Jisung could only stare as he watched the red liquid seep, seemingly endless, from the gash that must be at the back of Yongguk’s head. Then the dizzying reality of what had just happened struck him. He stumbled backwards, hands clasped over his mouth as he fell to his knees with a thud.

“Oh my god,” someone said. It took him awhile to realise that someone was him.

“Oh my god,” he repeated, rocking back and forth on his heels, unable to tear his eyes away from the slowly-bleeding-out body in front of him.

He knelt there for what seemed like an eternity, paralysed. He felt like he should be throwing up, or something, but his stomach was made of lead. There was blood everywhere, and it seemed like way too much--surely that was more than one body could contain. Panicking, body shaking with barely repressed sobs, Jisung tore off his apron, pressing it against the floor. It was barely enough to sop up any of the red liquid, and he was more just pushing it around than anything. The thin fabric quickly soaked through and he jerked back, staring at his now-bloodstained hands, feeling as if he should be crying but barely being able to expand his ribcage even enough to breathe.

All he knew was that everything had changed. A man was dead, and he had killed him. He knew it barely mattered that it had been in self-defense--their little barbershop didn’t have cameras, and it was his word against the reputation of a well-known, wealthy businessman, who was married with children ( _oh my god he had children,_ and Jisung retched a little). He had to get out, he had to leave, he had to go.

He stumbled to his feet, abandoning the now thoroughly blood-soaked apron, looking down at himself. He’d been kneeling in the pool as well, it seemed, and the whole bottom of his jeans were stiff with scarlet. He usually took the bus home, but the last bus had left fifteen minutes ago, and besides, he could hardly get on public transport looking like this. But he also knew that if he stayed here another moment he would lose his mind.

The door dinged ominously behind him as he all but sprinted out of the barbershop, leaving behind the gruesome scene and looking very much like a murder victim himself.

 _(Murder,_ he thought, and choked back another sob. _It could count as murder.)_

He knew there were more technical terms for what had just happened--involuntary manslaughter, maybe--but he felt like his heart had never gone quite this fast, that it was about to blast through all his bones and go into orbit, like he would never be able to take a proper breath again. He was only seventeen, he was supposed to go to university next year, he was supposed to keep working and saving up and be able to do music production as more than just a basement hobby, but his hands were covered in blood and he felt like he was the one who had just died rather than Yongguk.

That was what was racing through his mind when he almost got hit by the car.

 

-

 

Chan had been trying to kill himself for three days.

Death, it seemed, was stubbornly avoiding him.

Calmly, he wondered why, as he placed the plastic bag over his head. This was another method he’d read up on the internet. (It made him sick to his stomach that people posted about that kind of shit, but then again, here he was using it. So.) He methodically wrapped the duct tape around his neck, securing the bag airtight and distantly remembering when he was a child, how these very bags were always kept away from him for this very reason. (Foreshadowing, he thought. He almost laughed.)

He felt the lack of oxygen slowly at first, then all of a sudden, head getting light and woozy and chest contracting quicker and quicker in a panicked effort by his body to just _breathe._ He started seeing black spots, and the panic in his chest leaped to his brain, screaming to _stop, live, find oxygen._ Before he even realised what he was doing, he was scrabbling at the plastic bag and had ripped a hole, taking huge gasping breaths as oxygen flooded in.

He was immediately disappointed in himself. This always happened. He would get close, _so close,_ and then his instincts would take over and prevent him from finishing the job, and he always ended up feeling even emptier than before. It had been so long and he just wanted to not be _here_ anymore, but he foiled his own attempts every time.

He let the rest of the plastic bag hang down around his neck, unwilling to put in the effort to take off the duct tape he’d so painstakingly wrapped. Maybe this was a sign, he mused as he collapsed against his bed, chest still heaving from the near-asphyxiation. Maybe he really wasn’t meant to die. He couldn’t help but find that hard to believe, but Chan believed in a lot, most of all that the universe had a purpose for everything it put into motion.

So okay, universe, bet. If he couldn’t manage to do it tonight, then that was it. He was never meant to do it at all.

Oddly enough, it made him feel a little better to have a goal, a little less empty inside. He was working towards something. It hardly mattered that that something was his own ending.

He checked the time. 10:43 PM. There were plenty of fatal situations he could get into before midnight.

The air was cold on the fire escape outside his apartment, and lazily, he dangled a foot off the edge, contemplating the drop. He pulled back before he could get the courage to let go of the bar and let his weight carry him through three stories of thin air--he’d heard enough stories of people who hadn’t died on impact, and he was looking for something a little more painless.

He made his way down the fire escape onto the concrete outside his apartment building that he was about to get evicted from, the pavement still damp from this morning’s rain. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was seeking out, just that there had to be something in that wide dark night that would just make everything stop hurting. But then he’d stopped being afraid of pain a long time ago.

Headlights flashed through the night as he balanced carelessly on the curb, a car speeding by, the wind it created buffeting Chan’s hole-ridden robe. He realised he was only wearing a T-shirt and boxers underneath it--he wasn’t going to make a very sophisticated corpse. He supposed that was for the best.

Might as well be true to yourself, even post-mortem.

Maybe he could even do it right here, he mused to himself, only blocks from the apartment that had been slowly eating him alive for the past 4 years. The road was fairly empty, a single car racing by every two minutes or so, and the lack of traffic made drivers gutsy, careless. The sidewalk Chan was standing on was poorly lit if lit at all, and if he stayed out of view of the headlights long enough, they wouldn’t be able to brake in time. His bones would crunch and his head would _smack_ the pavement hard enough to draw blood like it did back then and--and--and everything would be over.

Maybe, he thought, leaning against a streetlamp and closing his eyes as he tried to pretend that this felt like peace, it would at least stop hurting.

That’s all that ran through his mind as another approached and he felt himself jump forward into the street, and then there was a screech of brakes and a lot of pain, and then everything was dark.

 

-

 

Changbin slammed on the brakes, jerking forward violently in his seat as he stared at the person that had just run out in front of him looking very much like a deer in headlights. The seatbelt dug uncomfortably into his shoulder, but he was distracted from the pain as his eyes adjusted to the suddenly brightly lit boy, squinting in the light from Changbins car as he stared, frozen.

They sat there for a moment, neither moving, and then Changbin got out of the car.

He shut the door and took a step towards the boy, who gave a start as he saw him approach and started backing up as if to run. “Wait!” Changbin called, hands out in front of him in a placating gesture. “I’m not--I’m not gonna hurt you.”

When the light was not quite so head-on, he was able to make out more of the details of the boy’s appearance. He looked fairly young, with a soft, round face and doe eyes. He was trembling and crying gently, arms wrapped protectively around his midriff. His clothes and hands seemed to be both bloodstained, and Changbin gulped.

“Are--are you hurt?” he tried again when the boy didn’t answer, and the younger choked back a sob as he shook his head. _Then who’s blood is that?_

“Do you need a ride?” he asked instead.

The boy stared at him for a long moment, then nodded.

 

“I’m Changbin,” Changbin said after a few minutes of silence, eyes on the road and one hand splayed out against the steering wheel. No response.

“So, where am I taking you?” he tried again, tamping down the irritation. He didn’t know what had just happened to the boy, but it had clearly been a lot, and he wasn’t going to snap at him.

The streets were mostly empty in this neighborhood, even though it wasn’t that late yet, only about 11. Maybe that was considered late for normal people. Changbin wasn’t sure.

He glanced over to the boy as they stopped at a light. He was staring at his crimson stained hands, eyes dried from teared and instead holding a scary sort of emptiness. He hoped this boy had not already been broken--he was not good at fixing people but still always found himself trying. There was already a feeling of protectiveness towards the boy stirring in his chest that he could not shake. Curse his empathy.

Without a word, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to the boy, who stared at it blankly for a moment, then wiped most of the blood from his hands.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “My--m-my name is Jisung.”

Changbin let a small smile curl his lips. “Nice to meet you, Jisung. I--”

He was cut off as a body suddenly appeared as if falling towards the car and he found himself slamming on the brakes for the second time that hour, though not quite avoiding a sickening _thud_.

 

For several long seconds, everything was horribly, awfully silent. Changbin and Jisung both lurched forwards against their seatbelts before falling backwards into the seats, chests heaving as twin dark eyes stared out the windshield to where they’d just seen the body fly.

It had seemed to have come out of nowhere--but no, Changbin realised as he replayed the moment in his mind, it hadn’t been nowhere, he’d seen the purpose in the movement as the man (had it been a man? the streetlights were broken in this neighborhood) had jumped in front of the fast-approaching car.

For the second time that night, Changbin unbuckled his seatbelt with shaking hands and got out of the car, faintly registering the fact that Jisung followed a few moments after him.

There was a groan from the prone body lying in the middle of the road, and then the man (it _was_ a man, seemingly not much older than Changbin himself) rolled over with another groan, banged up and bruised but somehow miraculously alive--not even seriously injured.

Changbin felt his vision tunnel, clenched fists shaking at his side as he strode towards the man without thinking about it. The fallen man was staggering to his feet, one palm braced against his back, and just as he straightened up, Changbin wound up his arm and punched him squarely in the face.

He could just barely hear Jisung shouting weakly in protest past the blood rushing in his ears, but he ignored it. “What the _fuck_ was that, dude?” he demanded as the other man reeled back unsteadily, face tilted downward and a hand nursing his likely-bruised jaw. Hands grabbed at Changbin’s prepped arm, yanking him back, and he shook Jisung off angrily. “I’m not looking to be made into a killer just because you--”

He cut himself off, partly because he was hesitant to finish what promised to be a very ugly sentence, partly because he’d been interrupted as the man in front of him started to laugh. Changbin froze, uncertain and realising that this guy might be a little bit off his rocker. The man’s loose giggles escalated to a full belly laugh, really quite contagious under any other circumstances. He staggered forwards a few steps, head tilted back towards the sky and turning around in slow, stumbling circles. “Fine!” he screamed at the sky, still laughing. “I’m still here! You win!”

Changbin took a few steps backwards in apprehension, examining the man past a furrowed brow. He had curly dyed-gray hair, a wide nose and smile, and looked altogether fairly normal other than the stream of blood trickling down his face and the slightly manic look in his pretty eyes.

“Dude, are you…” Changbin trailed off. “Okay?” he finally finished, somewhat lamely.

The silver-haired man looked at him as if a bit surprised to remember that Changbin was still here, eyes sliding glassily to where Jisung was standing behind him. “Okay?” he echoed. “Never better.”

“You sure?” Changbin asked hesitantly. “Because you _did_ just jump in front of my car.”

“And I didn’t die!” the man said, with a huge grin.

“No,” Changbin agreed slowly. The man seemed to notice his discomfort, bringing up his palms to rub his cheeks as they colored slightly.

“Sorry,” he said in a slightly milder voice. “I’m not crazy. Promise. Been in a weird place lately. I’m not gonna stab you.”

“Comforting,” Changbin said dryly.

“I’m Chan,” he said with a little bow, that Changbin returned more by force of habit than anything else. “I’m 22.”

“Changbin,” the darker-haired boy replied, a little surprised at this formal turn of events. “20.”

“Ah,” Chan said with a crooked grin. “And your … friend?”

Changbin turned with a start, having nearly forgotten the youngest was even there. “Ah--Jisung-ssi?”

The doe-eyed boy took a few nervous steps forward. “I… hi?”

“Hi!”

Changbin stared between the two for a moment, mouth set in a contemplative scowl before finally giving in with a sigh.

“So … do you need a ride?”

 

Two minutes later, the three of them were in Changbin’s recently ~~stolen~~   _acquired_ car. Chan was in the backseat, seatbelt off and leaning forward between Changbin in Jisung while Changbin just tried to focus on the road. Chan’s presence seemed almost to have slightly eased Jisung out of his state of shock, though Changbin knew that whatever it was the youngest boy had gone through, it wouldn’t go away so fast.

“So, Jisung-ssi,” Chan said cheerfully, “How old are you?”

“A-almost eighteen,” Jisung said, hands fumbling nervously with the fabric of his shirt. Chan clicked his tongue delightedly.

“Ah, I didn’t realise you were _that_ young! You can call me hyung, then,” he said, leaning back and sounding pleased. Jisung stared straight ahead at the road, eyes unseeing.

“Yeah,” the youngest mumbled, “sure, hyung.”

Chan smacked his lips, remaining silent for only a few moments. “You two know each other, then?” he asked.

Changbin waited for Jisung to answer, but the youngest only shook his head minutely. Changbin sighed, and said, “We just met tonight. I--almost accidentally hit him.”

“Ah.” Another momentary pause. “Where are we going, then?”

Changbin sighed wearily. “I… don’t know. Just… away. Unless either of you have anywhere specific you want to go.”

Chan hummed. “Works for me.” Jisung nodded, the jerky head movement more of a twitch than an affirmation, but enough for Changbin.

“All right,” he said lowly, leaning back in the seat and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he accelerated onto the long, empty road.

“Away it is, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> part 1 of three !!! i hope u like it and also pls check out my other chaptered fic its real gud i promise
> 
> come yell at me on [tumblr](https://jisquish.tumblr.com) or [twitter](twitter.com/jisquishh)


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